Frequented
by Darkrealmist
Summary: Admiring the unsettling fog outside his window, Netto waits in solitude for the day his punishment would end. [NetToh, Ch.2 up] Leave a review!
1. Allocated Space

Frequented

Author's Note: This story contains boy/boy situations, so if you don't like that kind of stuff, don't read. Otherwise, enjoy the story and R&R.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to or of the Rockman Exe. Series or Silent Hill.

Pairing: Netto x Tohru

Summary:

Hikari Netto, tormented by a personal issue, is admitted to a psychiatric hospital by request of his boyfriend, who is concerned that the secret that he has been keeping from him will endanger his life.

…

Chapter 1: Allocated Space

This place frightened him. Though there were many who walked through this same door, their shoes transferred from the wet concrete outside and coming to tap the cracked plaster tiles of the floor lightly with each step, loneliness pooled in his chest and caused a constricting pain to echo near his heart every few seconds. The dusty white walls were a perfect fit for what he saw as an asylum – not necessarily a gathering for the insane, rather a medical clinic, situated at least half a day's drive from his hometown; he had come to get well, but had little hope that he would be leaving any time soon.

As he entered the main lobby, a whirlwind of activity in itself, filled with seated patients and staff dashing back and forth between another set of double doors, he unconsciously knitted his fingers together, rubbing his knuckles repetitively and checking his nails for stains that did not exist. Some of the folks that were crowded around a table reading magazines while they waited turned to him. One of them, an elderly man, whispered into the ear of a little blonde girl, presumably his granddaughter, before picking up the cane that rested up against his chair and taking her by the hand to depart for another section of the ward. Another, a woman glamorously dressed in jewellery and designer label clothing, scoffed at him while punching numbers into her phone, losing herself in a long rant with a friend about how much it "hurt having to put up with normal people."

The secretary called out from behind her desk, motioning him forward. He obeyed reluctantly, still immersed in playing with his digits, and was given a clipboard with five pages worth of forms to fill out. After having received the paperwork, he made his way back to the waiting area, sitting down in the only vacant seat, which was unfortunately beside the lady who could not stop flapping her gums. Attempting to tune out her increasingly annoying banter, including excruciating repeats of "Like, you know" and "How's it going with that new fling," he busied himself with the forms, almost forgetting at some point to write 'NONE' overtop the line reserved for allergies. Completing the last of the information with his signature, he returned to the secretary to hand in the desired material. She scowled briefly at him for not replacing the sheets in their proper order on the clipboard, but it was difficult to tell whether or not she was truly angry, for eyebrows were missing from her face. With a sigh, she stood up and proceeded to guide him down a hallway that seemed to taper the further they travelled. On the way, they encountered numerous nurses clad in skin-tight tops, short skirts, and high heels that exposed their ankles. To the common eye, they offered a visual feast, but to him, these women symbolized a darker side of reality that he was about to venture into. He did not want to call it 'hospitalization,' as it was too gruesome a word for him to stomach. He preferred 'treatment;' it sounded softer and did not result in a churning of the fluids in his gut. Ironic that it was this same process that led him there in the first place.

…

The sweet scent of bran muffins fluttered into his nostrils as he bent over the oven, inspecting his work. It was his twenty-fifth day attending Akihara College, and he had already wowed his fellow undergraduates with his superb cooking skills, grace to his adoring mother, who had encouraged her son at a young age to pursue the finer aspects of cuisine. It was his intention that the pastries being warmed at the moment be saved for later; he looked forward to sharing this special batch with an equally special person: Hikawa Tohru, his somewhat shy but caring love interest since the early days in high school. No one suspected that the two would emerge as an item, given they were entirely different people; he was the energetic and ever popular kid with a thirst for adventure, while Tohru was the self-motivated and reclusive loner, ruled out by most cliques as an oddball of sorts. He did not mind though, for he understood Tohru unlike anybody else because of their history together. He could never deny the fact that it was their close friendship that brought them into an even steadier romantic relationship.

Of course, he would not have realized anything beyond the ordinary had it not been for Tohru finally coming out of the closet and admitting his feelings towards him. It was a day whose events remained lodged in his brain for the longest time before being registered and interpreted. Upon hearing, "I love you," he had gently refused, stating the garden variety, "I'm flattered and all, but we've been friends practically forever and I wouldn't want to break that up." He remembered that Tohru had simply nodded and went on as if nothing had changed, but as he himself soon came to accept, such a response belied the truth of the matter. Regret visited him often, and he was surprised to find himself pushed to the brink of madness over a _boy_. Growing up, he had witnessed the harsh nature in which people deemed 'unusual' could be treated, but as weeks elapsed following the other's confession, he could not help but feel sorry for turning him down; it was outright rude not to give him a chance. When he finally apologized for the way in which he had acted, Tohru forgave him, then popped the question: "Is it all right if I kiss you?" Not even bothering to answer, he had leaned in for the kill, having abandoned rationale in favour of satisfying a ravenous hunger within himself, a struggle not only for love, but also for dominance; he hated being on the receiving end of physical affections, as his first kiss as a child had come out of nowhere and left him with a desire to take control.

From then on, it was impossible for him not to spare a glance in Tohru's direction at every opportunity. He was just too adorable…Bundled up in a paling sweatshirt with sleeves that curled at the wrists, complete with a hood that highlighted his chocolate-brown puppy dog eyes. The mere thought of the boy was enough to send sparks of pleasure jolting across the synapses in his body at breakneck speed. He quickly memorized as much about Tohru as he could; likes: onsen, dislikes: being left out, blood type: O, sign: Pisces, favourite animal: cat, favourite ice cream flavour: vanilla, favourite movie: _Spirited Away_…

Tohru, in return, did the same; likes: netbattling and curry, dislikes: being deprived of food, blood type: A, sign: Aries, favourite animal: butterfly, favourite ice cream flavour: cherry, favourite movie: _StarPotter Reloaded_…

As time went on, their bond deepened. Graduation night was a strange mix of comedy and seriousness. He had stepped onto the dance floor, clearly having had too much to drink, practically clawing at Tohru's shoulders for support. The entire ordeal proved awkward; the other boy, who was shorter, had to keep him from slumping into the gymnasium hardwood or passing out from exhaustion. Despite the burden of tending to him, Tohru had remained ecstatic, laughing afterwards and telling him, "You're a fun drunk, you know that?" He had brushed off the remark, grunting in agony as a major hangover hit. On multiple occasions, he nearly choked on his own saliva, a bag of ice pressed to his aching skull. Tohru had seen him through it, denying himself six hours of sleep to make sure he recovered by the following morning.

A week-and-a-half later, the two rented a small, three-room apartment. Tohru insisted that they hold out on purchasing a television set, as he needed the money for a laptop and had not yet found a part-time job. To his dismay, he had agreed, but his boyfriend made it up to him by buying him both the TV and a DVD player once he snagged an opening in the electronics department of Future Shop. The store paid him minimum wage, but Tohru worked overtime for the sake of pumping funds into his savings account.

College began within four months. While he studied first-year home economics, taking a boring philosophy course on the side for extra credit that elaborated on Nietzche's _Also Sprach Zarathustra_, Tohru shot ahead into third-year engineering with a scholarship from some enterprise he had trouble pronouncing the name of. He was jealous of his counterpart's superior intellect, but took sadistic delight in the idea that he would starve to death if it were not for his own culinary expertise, even though he knew that the boy could whip up a damn good plate of noodles.

It was during this period that the 'episodes' commenced. He grew suspicious of the motives others held in regards to Tohru. Constantly, _his_ man would be stolen away from him by a bunch of dirty flirts who had nothing better to do than to cross paths with happy couples. He made a conscious decision to look his best, donning a snazzier outfit and getting his hair done on a regular basis. When these efforts failed to have any effect on Tohru, who, as he saw it, was just "being nice" in response to the advances of these bloodsucking harlots, he came to a startling conclusion while staring at his reflection in the mirror.

The food bill next month suddenly doubled, but Tohru did not let his thoughts linger on such a trivial affair…that is, until he discovered the reason for the sharp increase in spending. As he arrived home late one day after examinations, he noticed piles of junk food wrappers that lay shredded atop the kitchen counter. Fries were scattered about, and half-eaten burgers riddled the table area in front of the coffee machine. In addition, a box containing six delectable muffins was propped up against the fridge. He could hear quiet sobs coming from the bathroom. He tiptoed to the door, which was already slightly ajar, and peeked inside to see his boyfriend, hunched over the toilet seat, spewing chunks of what he had just ingested into the open bowl. Had it not been for the finger his lover had jammed up his mouth and into the back of his throat, Tohru may have dismissed the action as a consequence of food poisoning, but it was obvious now what he was really doing.

He wrapped his arms around him from behind, pulling him along the linoleum and forcing his hands together as if he was handcuffing him. "Stop!"

The brunette jumped in shock, trying to break free of his grasp, repugnant liquid still dripping from the edge of his lips. "T-Tohru-kun…Why are you here?"

"Why am _I_ here? What about you? How long have you been doing this?" He hugged him close to prevent his escape, his tears wetting the fabric of his vest collar. "This isn't right. You'll get yourself hurt…"

…

The secretary left him in silence. Almost immediately upon hearing her say, "Good night," he leapt onto the bed, comprised of an old mattress thrown over a metal framework of twisted bars and worn springs, and inspected the surroundings outside the window. The fog was thick tonight…so thick that only faint shapes could be identified in the far-reaching mists. The branch of a tree struck the glass repeatedly. He curled up into a ball, shivering under the covers, without even a sound to lull him into slumber.


	2. Innocent Moon

Frequented

Author's Note: This story contains boy/boy situations, so if you don't like that kind of stuff, don't read. Otherwise, enjoy the story and R&R.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to or of the Rockman Exe. Series or Silent Hill.

…

Chapter 2: Innocent Moon

He kept a firm grip on his PET, brushing his thumbs against its buttons in a mock attempt to dial Tohru's IP address. The device stared back at him with a blank screen, pitch black like the night sky he should have been able to see when looking out the window; unbelievably, the fog appeared to stretch on for miles. Just as the cloudy substance refused to lift itself from the earth, so did sleep refuse to overtake him. He was losing hope that it would ever come at all. Bringing the blanket closer to his chest and scrunching it around his bare legs, he found the tattered membrane to be an amorphous shell, for it provided miniscule warmth, large gaping holes arranged in droves throughout the network of chafed threads. He felt trapped. The bed was a cocoon that he would just have to learn to live with.

Locked in the prison of silk, he recalled how his Personal Terminal had once held a friend most dear to him: his Navi, Rockman. When he started attending high school, the blue bomber had been drafted into a six-year research program at the Science Labs, leaving the portable communicator hollow. Nothing seemed permanent anymore; his possessions, his loved ones…They were all vanishing into a restless dream that not even he could experience. He cursed the childhood image of the sandman, a mythical ancient said to grant torpor by sprinkling sand into the eyes of infants. The urge to go to the bathroom flashed in his mind, but he stayed glued to the spot.

After a while, the need became more violent. He flung his body over the side of the bed, his knees grazing the railings and producing a burning sensation as the steel posts struck bone. Disregarding the pain, both feet finally on the ground, he slouched towards the door. As his hand contacted with the cold spherical knob, he took a deep breath. Turning it one-hundred-eighty degrees clockwise, he entered the same narrow hallway that the secretary had escorted him through earlier that night. He expected a drop of water from a random leaking pipe to make a noise in the warped corridor, but was once again faced with the dread of silence. It was far too dark. He traced a path along the wall to keep himself oriented. He had no idea where the bathroom was, but assumed the best case scenario, clasping the single handle of the next door and pushing past it.

He stumbled forward clumsily, unnerved when a headless figure without limbs presented itself at the center of the new chamber, illuminated by a bleak spotlight whose source was unknown. The dressmaker's mannequin stood upright on an iron stake, partially deformed where the torso met the waist. A familiar sweatshirt was draped over its stuffed shoulders. By comparison to the rusted environment in which it resided, the dummy was a dazzling sight to behold. He could feel corroded oxides lapping at his toes.

"T-Tohru-kun? Are you in here?" he uttered apprehensively. "Did you come to pick me up? I haven't spoken to the doctor yet. Are we going home already?"

A loud clang alerted him to the silhouette of something lurking in the shadows…something big. Whatever it was, it dragged its weight across the grated floor, trudging with heavy strides as it neared his proximity. Panicked, he hid behind what he thought was a bookcase. The footsteps grew in volume. He watched as the model was knocked off balance, its attire spread eagle and opposite of the ceiling. A pair of swollen appendages, obscured by layer upon layer of bandaged skin, jerked spastically as their grotesque owner crouched over the fallen imitation. A tongue-like protrusion soon followed, quivering against the victim's immobilized physique. The thing split the lower half in two, mounting it and letting loose a disgusting and bestial roar. It heaved down on its hind legs, sliding its rounded abdomen in and out of the newly-made crevice, accompanied by a series of vulgar groans.

For the first time in a while, he actually wanted to vomit for good reason. Screams of horror nestled at his eardrums as the creature assaulted the defenceless mannequin. Gagging on the foul-smelling air, he tried to distract himself by looking elsewhere, but to no avail; his vision would continuously swerve back to the unholy scene. Finished with its prey, the beast reared its severely blistered visage: a bulbous tumour caked in blood, featureless, with the exception of a mouth stitched together above a particularly angular lump of rotting meat. Boil-covered arms flanked an exposed lung, tied in a knot twice the size of its midsection. As it approached him, hobbling like a disoriented man on crutches, it darted its tongue rapidly through a slit in its forehead.

He shut his eyes, praying that his blindness would stall the animate cancer, at least mentally. Again, he listened to the footsteps. There were five taps…six if he counted the splash that succeeded the fifth. He heard a moan, similar to that of a feral animal. A smooth hand cupped his cheek. He squinted tentatively, convinced there was a fifty percent chance that the monster was no longer there. To his relief, a woman in red and white garbs was cradling his chin in her palms, and everything had reverted to a state of normalcy. She scanned his expression, tilting from side to side as if she were conducting a diagnosis.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone was in here," she said politely, flashing him a warm grin. "This lavatory's reserved for staff only, but I'll just sign my name on the list so you won't get in trouble, okay?" She retrieved a ballpoint pen from her breast pocket, twisting a lock of golden-brown hair around her index finger while printing her initials, 'L.E.,' in the sixth column of a piece of paper taped to the wall. The ink ran.

Confused as to how he had ended up at his destination after all, he hastily pulled on his trousers, bolted down the hall and into his room without even washing his hands. Flustered from having been caught doing his business, he returned to nuzzling his PET. Whatever he had seen in there…it had to be purged from his memory. He reconsidered phoning Tohru, and impatiently punched letters and numbers into the gadget. Several unanswered tones later, a cartoon caricature of Iceman popped up, lounging in the corner of the screen shouting, "Leave a message!" in the Navi's trademark high-pitched voice.

Dispirited, he murmured into the contraption's mike, barely able to stay awake, "Hey babe…I guess you're too preoccupied right now, but I wanted to say that I miss you a lot. It's hard to fall asleep without you here beside me, and this center is really cold and artificial. You promised to come for me once I'm all better. Please do. Now I'm all alone…in this awful place…"

…

Grubby chairs were positioned in a semicircle by the fog-smothered window of 101. Three women sat, unmoving, with the exception of one dressed in a chalky white lab coat who was furiously taking notes on a pad of foolscap. Their curious eyes were trained on him, as he was the only male in the group, but behind each set of unblinking orbs, he could detect a riveting story waiting to be told.

"I'd like to welcome you all to Belhaven Clinic," the woman in the middle began. "I'm Dr. Amelia Cohen, and I'll be supervising your road to recovery. It is my job to help you three combat the condition known widely as bulimia in hopes that relapses of this neurological disorder may be prevented in the future. Before we get into specifics, let's go around the room and introduce ourselves, shall we?"

To her left, the girl clothed in a beige turtleneck spoke up timidly, "My name's Angeline, and I'm um, nineteen." He thought she was lying, for she possessed the face of a forty-year-old. "I have a brother who's seven years older than me, and uh, my parents are currently – with God…Excuse me…I have nothing more to say."

"That's totally fine dear," Cohen reassured with a smile, patting her back. "When you're ready." She turned to her right.

The blonde there yawned. She wore a crimson-coloured top with a low neckline that opened up at the bottom, revealing her navel, and stockings underneath an ebony miniskirt that disappeared into raised heels. A shimmering gold brooch was pinned directly below her cleavage, and at her hip, professionally administered, was a tattoo of a butterfly in mid-flight. He suspected that she was not naturally blonde, but had either dyed or bleached her hair repetitively over the course of her teenage life. She resembled a woman of twenty-two presently.

"My _name_ is Marietta. Started puking when I was fifteen…been at it since. As you can see, swallowin' too much ipecac for reeling in guys has done a real number on me." She pointed to her slim build. "During a check up, they told me I had contracted some sort of esophagael disease, but I kept slurpin', and the hotties kept coming!" The way she said it, it seemed like she took it as an accomplishment, rather than a genuine threat to her health.

Dr. Cohen finally turned to him. "And how 'bout you?"

"Name's Netto…Hikari Netto. I didn't begin exploring this until recently," he paused, not willing to continue.

"That's very good news. The earlier this is dealt with, the greater the results. But please, go on. Being that yours is a unique case, it would be quite beneficial if I had more information," she explained, biting on the end of her pen. "The reasons for your 'exploring,' perhaps?"

"Okay…" he gulped, insecurity pinpricking every muscle in his body. "It was – it was to impress my boyfriend."

Angeline and Marietta exchanged awkward glances, or so it appeared.

"I figured if I was more attractive, then he would pay more attention to me…but it didn't work, so I kept doing it."

"Uh-huh," Cohen nodded whilst writing. "And this partner of yours, is he aware of your illness?"

Marietta passed him a box of Kleenex. He blew his nose, disposing of the kerchief in a wastebasket. "Yeah. That's why I'm here. He found out by accident."

"Do you feel that the temptation to look hotter now that your secret is out in the open is still a problem?" she questioned. Her gaze was intimidating, like that of a wolf prepared to land a meal.

"A bit," he confirmed her suspicions, "but I'm glad that he was so understanding about the whole thing…"

"Well then –"

An announcement over the intercom interrupted her, albeit fuzzy due to the blown-out speaker: "Dr. Cohen to 106. Dr Cohen to 106."

"Oh, I'll be back in a minute." She promptly left.

Upon exiting, Marietta annexed her seat, giggling as she gunned a lustful smirk past Netto. "_So_, you're single I take it?"

Caught off guard, he coughed into his fist, "No. I said I have a boyfriend."

"No offence honey, but you don't exactly fit my idea of a queer. Your clothes are _way_ off!" She poked him in the ribs.

"Not all queers are effeminate and pink-obsessed," He snapped his fingers, partly in annoyance, trying to recall her name, "Marietta, was it?"

"Yep, Net."

"That's _Netto_," he corrected. "So what's with Angeline?"

Said woman was visibly sulking nearby. Somehow, while the two were conversing amongst themselves, she had seized the box of tissues and tore out most of the contents in rage, throwing the remains into a heap on the floor.

"Oh don't you go worrying about her. She's a lost cause. Rumour has it that her mom and dad abused her when she was younger, so she barfs to get rid of the 'dirty messes' bottled up inside her."

"Really? That's terrible!"

"Time didn't bruise that pretty face, that's for sure!"

"The poor girl." He shook his head, in pity over her situation.

"She's not the only one. Everybody here is a goner," Marietta stated bluntly.

"What do you mean?"

"This hellhole sucks people in…No one ever gets out. It's like a prison."

"I thought so too at first," he admitted, "but Tohru-kun promised he'd pick me up once I'm cured, so until then, I'm stuck here."

"Angeline's brother was supposed to take her for a drive in that town across the lake in front of the facility, but he never did. Your boyfriend will be no different. He'll forget and move on just like the rest of them."

"Don't talk about him like that! You don't even know him!"

She laughed, "Do us all a favour and stop dreaming. I would enjoy meeting him though. If he shows up, I'll have to remember to give him something special." Leaning in, she whispered heinously, "I think _I'd_ suit him much better. You're not his type…hideous abortion."

To his indignant grimace, Marietta yawned and walked away, purposely wiggling her buttocks to augment the humiliation brought on by her vile game of torture. Although he was angered by her sudden change in attitude, the validity behind her words seeped in; he had to confront reality: she was a butterfly, radiant and appealing, while he was a moth, ugly and distant. He trembled, eager to return to the comforting embrace of his husk at day's end.


End file.
